


Bound By Their Wrists

by sonicmekhanlock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Army, BAMF!John, Bullying, Homophobic Language, Shooting, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1382794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonicmekhanlock/pseuds/sonicmekhanlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if there was a world where everyone was born with a name on their wrist, indicating who their soulmate was? And what if John and Sherlock ended up having each other's names? Except the catch would be: only Sherlock knows his real name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh dear lord I love this one, I completely enjoyed writing it. Thank you to my guinea pig Sammy for reading the chapters as I went, and all mistakes are, of course, my own.  
> And as usual, it hasn't been brit-picked, so bare with me on that.

The first time John noticed, really noticed, the name inscribed on his wrist was when he was 6 years old. He had been standing next to Mrs. Watson as she was baking his favourite chocolate chip cookies, and he had looked down and seen a word seemingly tattooed into the skin in faint lettering, the tone just slightly darker than his summer sun-tanned skin. He had looked up at his mum and asked,

“What does this word mean? Why is it there?”

Her eyes had widened but she seemed unsurprised, having gone through a similar situation with Harry almost 2 years before. She stopped stirring and knelt down, smoothing out her frilled baby blue apron in the process. She took his wrist and indicated it to him.

“This, John, is a name. Not just any name, though: your soulmate’s name.”

“Soulmate?”

“The person that you’ll be with for the rest of your life, just like your father and I.”

“Oh, okay. What does it say?”

She glanced down and took a small second to read it. “William.” She frowned slightly but seemed to accept it right away. “John, you and Harry seem to be in the same boat because of this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know how most of the couples you see are a man and a woman right?”

John nodded, and answered, “Yeah, but Mr. Karwell is a couple with a man. I saw them the other day.”

“Yes, because some men like men and some women like women. Harry has a girl’s name on her wrist, and you have a boy’s name. Anybody is allowed to love anybody else.”

“Isn’t that how it already is?”

“It should be, but some people don’t like that, though. You’ll have to be careful, because unfortunately some people aren’t able to see true love that’s right in front of them and decide to be mean to those who are boys that like boys and those who are girls and like girls. I wish I could somehow knock some sense into those other people, John, I really do.”

John frowned, and said quietly, “So… Some people might be mean to me if they see the name on my wrist?”

Mrs. Watson sighed, “Yes.”

“Okay.”

She stood up and John began examining the name on his wrist, tracing the fine lettering with his finger.

“Also, John, it can be considered impolite to look at a person’s name without asking first. It’s a very… Personal thing to some people.”

John looked up at her and nodded. “Like not asking people why they’re wearing a wig?”

Mrs. Watson chuckled at the memory, and said, “Yeah, just like that.”

“Okay. But why does Mr. Barnukel wear a wig?”

“He doesn’t want people to know that he doesn’t have hair anymore.”

John just shook his head, “I don’t understand.”

“One day you will, dear.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

It happened for the first time when he was 13. He was walking home from school with his friend, Oliver. John was holding his backpack straps with both hands, and the two boys were laughing at something that had happened that day to another one of the boys named Victor. Suddenly behind them another boy called out.

“John! Hey John Watson!”

The two boys turned, and Oliver’s eyes widened. John looked at him in confusion, then looked back at the 3 older boys approaching them. It didn’t look like anything was amiss until they began shouting at him.

“Hey faggot!”

“How’s it like being a fairy? Huh, faggot?”

“Fucking pansy, you shouldn’t show your face around here.”

John’s stomach seemed to sink to the ground, and Oliver grabbed his arm and said in a panic,

“Run!”

The two boys turned and bolted, trying to keep ahead of the older boys who were also bigger than them with longer legs. It was a fight between the two groups: which one could run the fastest but most of all which group was the most desperate. John couldn’t help but start yelling, “Mum! Mum!” when they got close to John’s house. Mr. Watson came bolting from around the corner of the house and saw the two boys sprinting towards him. They got behind him and looked back at the group of boys that had been chasing them, but they were standing a couple of houses down. Mr. Watson glared at them, which the group obviously saw and rushed off. John was nearly in tears and so was Oliver, who was still panting from the running.

“Why were those boys chasing the two of you?” Mr. Watson asked, looking down at them.

“’Cause of my wrist, Dad.” John exposed his wrist to Mr. Watson, but he didn’t need to look. He already knew, and Mr. Watson’s face had hardened, anger glinting in his eyes.

“You’ll take a different route from school, alright? Oliver, would your mum be okay with this?”

“Yeah, she should be.” “Okay, good. I’ll ask your sister to go with the two of you from now on. If I ever catch those boys again, their parents will hear about it. Go inside now, I’ll explain this to your mother.”

John nodded, but Oliver added, “I should go home now, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, mate.” “Alright, see ya.” John went inside as his friend walked down the street, with Mr. Watson ahead of him making his way to the kitchen. John felt a bit relieved at being safer inside his house. The familiar hallway in front of him that opened into the living room smelled vaguely of hamburgers, and it made John feel a bit hungry but he had no appetite. He just collapsed on the couch face down and groaned.

“Rough day at school, was it?”

John turned his head slightly so that he could regard Harry. She was nearing 15 now, and was sitting in an armchair with her drawing notebook open in her lap. Her legs were tucked underneath her, and she was idly playing with one of the 5 different necklaces she had around her neck. Her spiky dyed black and purple hair made her stormy-grey eyes glint with playfulness all the time, but at that moment John didn’t feel like playing around.

“No, not really, just… These guys chased Oliver and I down from 3 streets over.”

Harry frowned and asked, “Why?”

John didn’t really want to talk about it. Mummy had warned him that one day people might not like the fact that he had a boy’s name on his wrist, but John guessed that maybe he had just been living in a bubble where he hadn’t really believed that would ever happen.

Mr. Watson came in at that moment with Mrs. Watson in tow.

"Harry, you’re going to need to walk with John to school now.”

“What? Why?”

“Some boys decided that being homophobic was the right way to go and chased your little brother and Oliver.”

Her eyes widened. She had always been gay, never taking any interest in guys. She hadn’t felt the hate towards gays as much as a boy would, and the fact that John was now getting some of the bullying that she had witnessed seemed to shock her and even worry her.

Nodding, she answered quickly, “Okay, I will.”

“You’re not going to fight and kick and scream about it?” John asked just then, honestly curious. Harry was currently in a very rebellious phase, and a day didn’t go by without their parents and her disagreeing.

“No. It’s too important and anyway I have no reason to go against it. No one is ever laying a finger on you, John. Not if I can help it.”

John smiled at that, and their sibling rivalry seemed to be forgotten for that night. The next morning and every school morning and afternoon after that, Harry would always be waiting for John, rain or shine. The 3 boys would sometimes follow their group from a distance, yelling out occasional slurs. It only stopped when the boys seemingly got older and went off to college, much to the relief of John. It was nice to not have to worry about other people caring about the simple lettering imbedded in his skin.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, John. How are ya?”

John looked over at the brunette sitting next to him. Her long dark brown hair was tied back in a neat sophisticated pigtail, and her large rimmed black glasses almost made her look like the nerdiest girl in the whole school. John wasn’t put off by people who were stereotyped as nerds, but for the lack of a better word he always found himself describing her that way.

“Hey, Tara. I’m alright, you?”

“Well, could’ve been better but you know, good company like yours will help.”

She smiled shyly at John, and he couldn’t help but smile back. They had been in the same university class for the past 2 months, and it really turned out well when she had run in late and the only seat left was next to him. She ducked her head and pushed her hair back behind her ear, and it was so adorable that John couldn’t help but ask what he had been wanting to ask for a long time:

“Would you like to go out to dinner with me sometime?”

Her warm brown eyes met his and she answered, “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

The two of them ignored the words inscribed in their wrists. The names only showed that the person who they would connect the most with, but only if they ever met. Many couples weren’t in sync with what was on their wrists, and that was perfectly okay. Tara’s parents were one of those couples, and they had stayed married for almost 24 years now. The names didn’t really dictate your fate; it just showed you that this certain person, out there, was perfect for you. Everyone else can only fall short.

Those were the words that John remembered throughout his and Tara’s relationship. They dated for 9 months, until it came to an end because they just weren’t great together as a romantic couple. They stayed friends, but when John went off with the army they lost contact.

Looking back on it, John didn’t really understand why he did what he did while in Afghanistan. Every time a soldier died in his care, he made a point of discreetly looking at the name on their wrist. The person that the name belonged to would now never find their perfect match. It felt like it had to be done, to at least acknowledge the living person that was now alone in the world. At night, when all you could hear was the deafening silence of uneasy temporary peace and the soft wind blowing through the dunes of sand, sometimes John wondered if William was already dead. You weren’t able to know if your other half died, all you could have is a life of endless what ifs. Sometimes, if John felt like that this was it, his death had come, he would sometimes find himself thinking a silent apology to William. It was life, though, and somehow he got through all those fights. It was so like himself, to apologize to someone he had never even met. His heart sometimes felt too full of empathy.

It was during one of such fights that he found himself apologizing.

_I’m so sorry, William. I hope you could forgive me._

_Dear God, let me live._

The bullets flew past him as he ducked down, covering a wounded soldier on the ground. He was in a crumbled building that still surprisingly had a roof, and he was mostly covered. He took out his medipack and began working, shushing the soldier when he moaned in pain. The soldier had two bullet wounds, one of which would prove to be fatal and John couldn’t do anything about it. He squashed down the feeling of helplessness and grabbed the man’s hand.

“Soldier, look at me. Soldier!”

The man opened his eyes slightly to regard John dizzily. He was losing consciousness, fading fast.

“Tell… My wife…”

Before he could finish, John’s mate Benjamin came crashing through the wooden door, shooting blindly behind him.

“John! You need to move, NOW!”

John took one last look at the man on the ground, and saw that he had stopped breathing. He grabbed his wrist and saw the lettering. _Karen._

John stood up, his head going slightly dizzy from the sudden pressure change but adjusting quickly from having done it so often. He grabbed his gun and aimed it forward, walking at a half-crouched fast pace through the rest of the building. When he got to another door, he looked back at Benjamin, who was covering his back. John kicked down the door and burst through, swinging around to check that the coast was clear. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, and he could barely hear above the ringing caused by the constant litany of gunshots around him. He didn’t know whether he was feeling the thrill of the chase or the gut-wrenching fear of impending death, and really, he didn’t care all too much.

They cut around a corner and stopped to catch their breaths once they saw the coast was clear.

“Jesus, they’re coming at us much harder than usual.” Benjamin said through deep breaths, calming himself down like every soldier had been taught to do. John nodded his agreement, and scanned their surroundings again. They were in an alley, open to the street at both ends, but the noise was a bit muffled by the high walls that were still miraculously standing after the recent bombings. He swallowed, and replied,

“We need to keep moving. Our orders were to retreat.”

“Okay.”

They began walking in the opposite direction that they had come from, keeping low and keeping their guard up on high alert. Once they got to the end of the alley, John glanced around the corner at the empty street. It was littered with building fragments and tumbled-over military vehicles, but was surprisingly almost silent, as they had gotten away from the main gunfight. Seeing no one, he nodded to Benjamin and went first, keeping low and running as fast as he could to the other side of the street.

They were halfway when a series of curt shouts in a foreign language rang through the empty air. Before John could throw himself onto the ground behind a truck, a couple shots were fired, and he barely registered the sounds before being knocked back slightly by a sudden immense pressure in his shoulder. John screamed a blood-curdling scream and collapsed behind the truck.

“John! Look at me, don’t lose consciousness, fucking Christ did it seriously have to be the doctor to get shot, fuck, bloody hell bloody hell BLOODY HELL!”

Benjamin was frantically searching through his pack, but John could barely concentrate. Everything had taken a sort of blurry quality, and his hearing had cut as if he was underwater. The effect lasted only a few seconds before the pain, _oh god the pain!_

John groaned loudly, and Benjamin was shouting for back up into the walkie-talkie that he had found. John started to feel his consciousness dissipating, fading away and leaving the sides of his vision almost black. As his eyes shut closed and his mouth still open in a silent scream of torture, his only thoughts were of pain and fear.

_Oh, god, I’m about to die._

_Oh god._

_Fuck, I don’t want to die._

_Please, God, let me live. Please, I beg you…_

When his vision went completely black and all that was left was utter deafening silence.

Right before he really succumbed to the darkness, his very last thought echoed weakly through his head.

_I’m so sorry, William. I really, truly, am._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter of the four, just to let you all know.

John floated, passive in his movements in the empty space around him. He felt numb, but a good numb, a kind that could only be found in the beginnings of deep heartfelt love. He smiled, extending his arms out. He could move, but he didn’t really want to, didn’t need to. So there he stayed, floating, content and numb and completely at peace. Time didn’t affect him at all.

The first sign that showed that something was changing was his sudden awareness of light. The air around him glowed, warming him and blanketing him in its comfort. It made John feel happier, and John just wanted to snuggle up like he did as a child. The next step was his sense of time, which appeared at the same time as a small pressure in his shoulder. The pressure blossomed and his awareness changed: he slowly started to hear a faint beeping nearby, and his shoulder was really starting to hurt.

_Ow… Ow ow ow what the hell._

He felt his lungs expand, and suddenly he felt the need to inhale as much air as possible. He gulped in the air and it felt like he had just burst from being underwater for too long.

It was at that moment that he opened his eyes for the first time.

God, it was bright. John had to blink a few times to adjust, barely noticing the nurse that was fiddling with his meds tap next to him.

“Captain John Watson? Do you know where you are?”

He blinked once, twice, processing the question. “Uh, in a hospital, I think?”

“Yes, good. Now, John, you need to listen to me, alright?”

“Okaaay…”

“You’ve been shot in the shoulder. It’s pretty bad, it went in very deep. The surgeon was able to take the bullet out but there were some complications that arose. There’s an infection in the bullet wound, nothing too major but it will scar very visibly. We need to keep you here for a few days and then you can be discharged.”

“Alright.”

John didn’t exactly like being told everything like this, considering he was a doctor himself and would’ve much rather examine himself. He understood that the poor girl was doing her job, but the pressure in his arm was really starting to bother him and his tolerance was a bit low.

“Soon, Doctor Yumi will be in to see you and explain a few things about what will happen after you’ve been discharged.”

_What? After I’ve been discharged? I thought that was straightforward._

The nurse left the room, leaving John alone to his thoughts. Around 20 minutes later, a short male Japanese doctor walked in with a clipboard.

“Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers?” said the man, his American accent crisp and clear and very different from what John was used to hearing.

“That’s right.”

“Well, I have some good news and some bad news. Which would you like to hear first?”

“Uh, the bad.”

“Well, aren’t you brave.” The doctor smiled at John, but John didn’t answer it with one of his own. He was tired, his whole body ached for some reason and he just really wanted to be left alone. “Captain, I’m afraid that the injury will cause you some problems in the future. Physical activity may be hindered due to the severity of the wound.”

John nodded and answered, “How bad is it? I’m a doctor, just tell me.”

The other doctor sighed, and brushed his black bangs out of his eyes. “Well, that kind of brings me to the good news, although I’m not sure how exactly you would view it. See, it’s bad enough that you won’t be able to go back and fight anymore. You’re going to be sent back into civilian life in England.”

John narrowed his eyes and regarded the doctor. “I’m… not going back into the fight.”

“No. Your flight is at the end of the week. We’re Tuesday, today, so you have 4 days.”

“Ah.”

“As per regulation, you will return home and attend therapy designed for army personnel once a week.”

“Well, don’t have much of a choice, now do I?”

Doctor Yumi smiled grimly in empathy. “I used to be in the army, I remember the therapy sessions.”

John sighed and shook his head in acceptance.

“We expect the infection will have been fixed by Friday, at the maximum. You’ve been in a coma due to the infection, so that’s why the time seems to have gone by quickly. You’ll be seeing a lot of me over the next few days.”

John nodded once more, and Doctor Yumi stood up to leave. Just before he left the room, John had a thought.

“Doctor Yumi?”

“Yes?”

“My friend Benjamin, the one who was with me when I got shot. Where is he?” “Oh.” Realization dawned on him. “Of course, you wouldn’t really know… Captain, after he called for back-up, he was shot also. We tried to save him, but it proved to be too difficult. I’m sorry, sir, Benjamin died 4 days ago.”

John’s heart sank. He had known Benjamin for a few months, had learned to trust him and even had full confidence of his skills in combat. He had even considered him his friend. After the few years that he had been in the midst of the harder combat situations, he had learned to not let the grief overtake him completely. Whenever you befriended someone, it was always with the knowledge that every day could very well be the last that you’ll see of them alive. The pain of losing a fellow soldier never really dimmed down, though.

“And… I’m not sure I should be asking this, but did you happen to see the name on his wrist?”

Doctor Yumi tipped his head a little to the right and judged his words.

“You shouldn’t be asking, but I understand your point of view. It seems to be a sort of habit for all doctors to look at the person’s name.”

John nodded in agreement.

“The name on his wrist was Elezabeth. With an E instead of an I. Very uncommon spelling, lucky for him.”

John chuckled, but sobered quickly. Elezebeth, he remembered, was actually his wife of 3 years. _What she’s going through now is something that I couldn’t wish on anybody._

“Maybe it’s because we see every human life as being precious in some way, and the name on their wrist brings a whole new facet to it. It’s as if by acknowledging their other half, we’re acknowledging the whole, I guess. That’s how I see it.”

Doctor Yumi smiled and answered, “Yeah, I guess that’s why.” Then nodded and left John alone. Only the beeping of the heart monitor broke the silence.

John didn’t like the silence much. It felt uneasy and so out of place of what he had been in for the past few months that he just couldn’t wrap his head around it. There’s one thing that he was scared to admit to himself, although the thought was whirling around in his head unbidden. It just seemed like something that he shouldn’t be thinking, but here he was, in a stark white hospital bed, thinking just that.

Any normal person would be glad to go home, to get out of this hellhole that was the war in Afghanistan. But no, of course he couldn’t be normal.

Others would be glad and not look back, but John will miss it.

John will miss the battlefield.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a struggle adjusting to living in London again. The meandering routine of civilian life seemed almost lost on John after having been gone for so long. The fact that now he could barely walk without a limp just frustrated him even more, but really, what was the point. Mum and Dad have been gone for a long time, and Harry barely talked to him anymore through her drunken stupors. It was becoming a sort of chore to go about life like every other person on the street.

When he bumped into Mike in the park, they had sat on the bench talking. Back in university, they had told each other whom they had on their wrists: Mike had Penelope. Mike was one of those people that didn’t care who was with whom, so when John had told him, all-be-it nervously, that he had William inscribed on his wrist he had nodded and it had been the end of it.

“So, have you met Penelope, yet?” John asked, trying to make conversation.

“Ah, yeah, actually. She’s a lovely girl, 2 years younger than us, beautiful dark brown hair and big brown eyes…”

“Well, that’s nice.”

“Have you met William?”

John cleared his throat and answered, “No, not yet.”

Mike nodded, and they sat in silence for a minute or two. They started talking again about other things, until they came upon the subject of John’s lodging. When Mike pointed out that John had been the second person to ask who would want them for a flatshare, John had been confused and a bit intrigued. He accompanied Mike to St. Bart’s, where he had met a tall man with prominent cheekbones ( _God, those are very sharp-looking_ ) in a suit who spewed out seemingly every single detail about his life, including the war. If he had been any type of cautious, John wouldn’t have accepted the flatshare, but something about the man made him hesitate. Something drew him to the man named Sherlock Holmes, and he couldn’t pinpoint what.

When he was dragged to Angelo’s the next night, he was still hesitant on whether he would be taking the flatshare or not. When at the end of the week, he had killed a man for Sherlock; he had to admit something was there.

~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dicot-rooted cells… Interesting._

Sherlock had been sitting there since 4 in the morning, conducting an experiment that would surely take the whole day of looking through a microscope. It had only been about a week since John moved into 221b Baker Street, and Sherlock didn’t really know why he had given the man the time of day at St. Bart’s. At least, he didn’t know anything that he was okay with admitting to himself.

“Morning.” Came a sleepy voice from the doorway. Sherlock glanced up at John, who seemed to have taken a shower and had his hair sticking up in every direction. He wore a dark blue bathrobe and seemed to have nothing else underneath, and Sherlock only quirked an eyebrow at the sight.

“Good morning.”

“Did you sleep well? Or, you know, sleep at all?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I seem to have slept several hours by mistake.”

“It isn’t a mistake, Sherlock.” John answered, moving towards the kettle and filling it up with water to boil for tea. “It’s your body succumbing to one of its most basic needs.”

Sherlock just made a small sound of annoyance at the thought of his transport failing him, and looked into the microscope once more. He looked up barely 5 seconds later when John said,

“Oh, bugger!”

John was holding his wrist in his other hand, now, rubbing it slightly. It seemed like he had burned himself, and Sherlock’s eyes flickered to where there was a small puddle of steaming water around his mug. Sherlock was about to go back and ignore the situation developing a feet away from him when the pale lettering on John’s wrist caught his attention.

Sherlock couldn’t help but have his eyes widen at what he read there, and his heart stopped. He froze, caught by the realization that he recognized the name on John’s wrist.

_William._

Sherlock shook himself and quickly went back to pretending to be conducting an experiment, his thoughts going off at high speeds in every direction as he weighed the information. Usually people’s so-called soulmate’s name on their wrists didn’t affect him. Sentiment had never really been his strong suit, and the fact that he could succumb to it just like every other blundering human being on the planet was a bit humiliating. He didn’t realize when John had spoken to him, and he only snapped out of it when he saw a hand waving near his face.

“What?”

“Do you have any ozonol?”

“Oh, in the bathroom cupboard over the sink.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Sherlock stared at John’s back as he disappeared down the hall and into the bathroom. Suddenly, he felt the need to be alone and not be bothered at all, so he stood up and strode to his room. He glanced at John in the bathroom for a second before entering and closing the door behind him. He stopped, leaning against the wooden door as his thoughts focused on a singular fact.

Sherlock lifted his arm and pulled back his sleeve, revealing what name he knew was already there but needed to see again.

_Could it be?_

On his wrist, in lettering that was just slightly darker than his skin tone, was a name that he had laughed at when he was younger because of how generic and boring it was. Now, his opinion had made an almost complete 180 turn, because the other man that was standing in the flat bore the same name. The man who had surprised Sherlock by his actions, which spoke louder than the words that they had exchanged, had Sherlock’s first name on his wrist, and Sherlock had John’s.

_William Sherlock Scott Holmes._

_John H. Watson._

_Well, this is going to get interesting._

~~~~~~~~~~~

_Six Months Later_

“He took all the bloody milk again…” John sighed quietly to himself, peering into the mostly empty fridge. He really didn’t feel like going out to get some groceries, but it didn’t look like he had any choice. He straightened up and looked at the tall figure in the furthest armchair. “Aight, well, I’m going out. I’ll be back in a bit, alright?”

“Mhmm.” Was John’s only answer, and a few months ago he would’ve just been rolling his eyes. Now, all he did was nod and grab his things and went out. When he was about a block away, an expensive sleek black car slid up to the curb next to where he was walking.

_What the hell does Mycroft want now?_

John grabbed the door handle and pulled, opening the door quickly and sliding onto the seat, barely glancing at the man next to him.

“What do you wa-“

John’s eyes widened and he stopped talking when he finally had a good look at the man. He was most definitely not Mycroft, had dark brown hair smoothed back by product and wore a black suit with a light blue tie. He went to open the door once more to leave the car but it was locked, and a small bubble of panic rose in John’s chest.

“So, John Watson… Sherlock Holmes seems to have grown fond of you over the past few months.” The man said in a gravelly American accent.

“What the hell am I doing here and why won’t you let me out?” John said steadily, his battle instincts kicking on and making the slight tremor in his right hand cease. He briefly wondered if he was one of Moriarty’s henchmen.

“Well, you see, Mr. Holmes has caused us quite a lot of trouble, and we feel it is high time he paid for it. We needed incentive for him though, and you have been so very kind in volunteering your time, Doctor Watson.”

John could only glare at the man. He tried to see in what ways he could escape, but before he could spur into action the man lifted a finger and tutted.

“It’s really no use. There’s nothing here that you can harm me with, and anyway, if you were to even come close to me you would be immediately shot in the head. Think carefully.”

John glanced around in front and saw another man looking back at him, a pistol held in his hand pointed directly between his eyes. John turned his focus back to the man in the suit.

“He’ll find me, once I’ve been gone long enough.”

“Hmm… maybe we’ll give him a call before then. You, on the other hand, can stay here for now. You see, the man with the pistol is also a doctor, and he knows how to make solutions that can create a variety of effects on the human body. For example…” John felt a prick in his neck and he flinched back, trying to get away from the liquid being poured into his vein, but it was no use. “… This one knocks the victim unconscious for a few hours. Perfectly safe, I tell you. You’ll just feel nice and sleepy now…”

John’s eyes began to droop as his body surrendered helplessly to the drug. He couldn’t move anything, and his mouth began to taste pasty. Before he completely lost consciousness, the only thought he had was a sort of prayer that Sherlock would find him.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock’s phone chimed for the 4th time, announcing another text having gotten through. He opened one of his eyes to glare at the phone, annoyed at the person that kept sending texts and interrupting his thinking. He then considered that it was probably Lestrade sending texts about a new case, so he reluctantly picked it up from the armrest and looked at the texts. His eyes widened at the texts coming from an unknown number.

(3:41 PM) Dear me, Mr. Holmes. Doctor Watson is much more cooperative that I expected. 

(3:47 PM) Then again, he is being cooperative without knowing. 

(3:54 PM) You seem to not like checking your phone, don’t you, Mr. Holmes? 

(4:06 PM) No matter, I believe you will be showing up soon. We are at Greenland Pier, Doctor Watson is in need of your help.  [Attached Item] 

Included Sherlock opened the file and saw John with a gash on his forehead and looking completely out of it, but from the angle Sherlock couldn’t tell if he was drugged or not. The sight of John incapacitated terrified him, and he very nearly bolted off without thinking first.

John's voice rings in his mind, _It’s obviously a trap._

Sherlock pursed his lips in annoyance, grimly debating his options. Suddenly his phone began ringing, and Sherlock picked up without glancing at the number.

“I’m a bit busy at the moment!”

“Yes, I’m aware of that, brother mine. John was abducted 43 minutes ago, and was taken to Greenland Pier.”

“Are they seriously that completely idiotic to actually not take any precautions against you, and also tell me exactly where they actually are?”

“They texted you then. I will be sending some help in retrieving John, you may go there in a cab.”

Sherlock hung up without a word, rolling his eyes. He descended the stairs two at a time and pushed out onto the street, his eyes taking a second to acclimatize to the increased light. He hailed a cab and within minutes was off, being driven to Greenland Pier impatiently. When he arrived, there were three black SUVs waiting with a few armed men milling around waiting for him. Their leader nodded at Sherlock and said,

“We don’t know what level of situation we’re dealing with, so caution may be our best bet when we go in.”

Sherlock nodded, and he walked towards the warehouse with two men flanking him, with the others close behind but blocked by them when they stepped through the door. The inside was dusty and worn, dark and old and having been abandoned for at least a few years, 4 by what Sherlock could gather. Sherlock flounced through into the next room when he heard a small moan of pain coming from it, and his eyes widened at the sight.

“Glad you could finally join us, Mr. Holmes. I have been meaning to speak with you.” Sherlock cocked his head to the left, peering at the dark haired man.

“We could’ve talked without you taking John hostage.”

“Oh, but this is much more fun!” The man answered, chuckling and indicating around him. “Your guards can come out of the shadows, I know they’re there.”

Mycroft’s men stepped out gingerly and slowly, their guns all pointed at the American. He only raised an eyebrow at them, and then stepped back to reveal John, who had been half-hidden from view. John sat on a simple wooden chair, his head bowed forward and shaking with each pained breath he took. His back was bare and his arms tied behind him, his feet tied to the front legs of the chair. In various places were the beginnings of blooming bruises that were contrasted by the sharp bright droplets and rivulets of blood flowing down from cuts. His blond hair was a mess, the tips seeming like they had been pulled at. Sherlock’s heart panged when he saw him in that way, and he nearly stumbled when John looked up and locked his storm grey eyes with Sherlock’s, showing the extent of the damage on his face.

_Broken nose, gash on his forehead. This man will **pay.**_

“This is easy. You’re trapped and unable to get away no matter what you do, so why should I listen to you?”

The man only smiled enigmatically, his features twisting into a menacing smirk that Sherlock just wanted to punch off.

“Because Moriarty sends his regards, and because if I’m forced to leave, John here will suffer some unfortunate consequences.”

Sherlock perked up when he heard Moriarty’s name, his interest suddenly picked. He was prepared to do anything to learn more about the mystery behind the dark haired man that the name belonged to, but hearing that John was potentially still in danger caught his mind in its trap.

“What… _consequences_?” Sherlock hissed, stepping closer.

“Ah, that is to be determined. However, I must admit that I am surprised you brought help along. He says that the last time you had met, you had gone alone without telling your dear Watson.”

“I learn from my mistakes.”

Finally, the smirk wiped off the man’s face as if it hadn’t been remotely real, without a trace. It was replaced instead by a scowl, the full intensity of the glare boring into Sherlock. It didn’t affect him, but it added another piece of information to the situation.

“Yes, it seems you do.”

From above, a small crack sounded and echoed around the room. Everyone except for Sherlock and John looked up to try and find the source, and due to that only Sherlock saw the small red light flashing briefly across the man’s forehead before a gunshot rang out. The man’s mouth opened in a small gasp, and he crumpled to the ground in front of John, and Sherlock, without a second glance, rushed to John’s side. Sherlock made quick work of the bindings, and then shrugged off his coat and flung it carefully over John’s back, quickly folding back his sleeves in the heat of the warehouse. John leant forward in his seat and hung his head on Sherlock’s shoulder, laughing quietly. Sherlock brought up a hand to bring John’s head back up to look at him, and asked,

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because we always end up hurt in some way, and the other always swoops in like a hero to save the other. It’s quite a routine we have. Thank you, though, for coming for me.”

Sherlock shook his head in confusion. “I’ll always come for you, John. Why are you thanking me like you didn’t believe I would come?”

John hung his head a little lower and answered in a whisper, “I admit that I didn’t think you would notice something had gone awry.”

“They sent me a text. Without it, it would’ve taken me a couple hours. Stupid of them.”

“Mr. Holmes, an ambulance is waiting for Mr. Watson. Any threat to his safety as the man suggested has been compromised.”

Sherlock looked back at the man behind him and nodded in understanding, then helped pull John up to his feet to help him to the vehicles outside. When John sat on the edge of the ambulance entrance, Sherlock finally pulled away, allowing himself to breath around the ache in his heart. Before he could go very far John frowned and grabbed his arm, twisting it to look at the wrist with the lettering on it. His eyes widened at the name, and he looked up with questioning eyes at Sherlock, who only shrugged in response.

“You have my name on your wrist.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“And you never told me?”

“Why would I? It had no value to me, and you don’t have mine on yours. Soulmates always have each other’s names on their wrists.” Sherlock lied smoothly, taking back his arm and pulling down his sleeves once more to hide the name.

He stepped back from John as they brought him further into the ambulance, then Sherlock climbed in to accompany him to the hospital, never leaving his side until he was released the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn't expect this much attention to this story, but here you all are. I hope I'm doing this story justice, and I'm planning to maybe put out a chapter every day or two, so don't expect to wait too long for the next part of the story.
> 
> And thank you for taking the time to read this, it warms my heart more than you will ever know!


	3. Chapter 3

John’s world was tumbling and shifting around him once more, and he just felt absolutely tired. Not the tired as in your whole body ached after your first work-out after a long holiday, but tired mentally and emotionally and he just wanted to slip away and never talk to anyone for months. Except he had one thing that he had to face, one more thing that was too important to slip away from. He glanced over at Mary out of habit, searching for a sort of support that now felt false. He could barely take pretending to be her husband to keep an eye on her, just in case anything could come of it. He never really understood why, but Sherlock and Mycroft had been rather insistent on the need for it. As he turned away, he realized that her bright red coat made a dramatic contrast to the colour of the tarmac and the grey sky, but even the red couldn’t hold his gaze for more than a few seconds.

No. His eyes were fixed on the billowing coat that Sherlock always wore, the black fabric making his skin seem paler than it usually was. He watched as Sherlock climbed up into the white plane, his stomach sinking more and more with each step he took. Before entering completely, Sherlock turned back to glance at John, and John saw the façade of _everything’s going to be alright_ fall away for a second. John was so attuned to Sherlock’s face that he saw the faint movement, even if no one else did. It just made him want to run to him and grab him and wrap his arms tightly around Sherlock and to never let go.

John regretted the handshake. He really should’ve given him a hug.

The plane flew away, bringing John’s heart with it. Sherlock had made a valiant effort to pretend that everything would be okay, but his eyes had told a different story. John had pretended not to notice, in honour of his best friend. As he strode beside Mary down the tarmac towards the parking lot, he ran over their last conversation, committing it to memory. He couldn’t believe that he had said good-bye to his best friend for the second time in his life.

One bit of the conversation stuck out to him, though, and John wondered why that was. Why had Sherlock told him his full name? It’s understandable that he may have wanted to try and make light of the whole situation, but saying his full name? John had said his out of jealousy to Irene Adler, but Sherlock couldn’t have been jealous of anyone here, if he even got jealous at all.

It was like in the cartoons you saw every Saturday morning. It felt like a light bulb went off over his head and everything suddenly took on a different light. John’s eyebrows furrowed in thought, then he looked down as he pulled his coat sleeve up to examine his wrist like the thousands of times before. The never-changing name said the exact same thing it had always done:

William.

_William Sherlock Scott Holmes._

_What?_

_That’s the whole of it, if you’re looking for baby names._

William.

John’s head snapped up to look at the fading white dot in the sky, already too far away to reverse. To reverse the mistake.

Everything made sense now. The fact that Sherlock had lied bothered him, but he tried to understand what could’ve possibly gone through Sherlock’s mind to make him lie.

“What’s going on?” Mary said, her voice bringing back John from his reverie.

John refocused his gaze on the older Holmes, who stood outside his car with his hand at his ear, his phone pushed against it. Mycroft looked shaken, as if something had happened that had been completely unexpected.

“I will explain in a moment.”

Mary and John looked at each other in confusion. Mycroft dialed another number and said, “Give the phone to my brother, and return him to the airport.”

A pause.

“How’s the holiday?”

Mycroft smiled slightly at the response.

“Well, I hope 4 minutes had been sufficient of an exile. London needs you, brother mine.”

_He’s coming back? Why?_

Mycroft’s eyes bore into John’s as he answered, “Moriarty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, this story was finished and edited before I even started posting it.
> 
> Oh and I know this chapter is short, but cutting it off at that point just felt right for what was coming next. :P
> 
> You will understand tomorrow!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it helps, in my headcanon when John found out Mary was an assassin he wanted to leave her after careful thought, but Mycroft and Sherlock discussed with him that it might be smart to stay with her, if she managed to evade any background checks. To keep an eye on her, really. It doesn't make much sense when I explain it like this but that's kinda my thought process, in a way.

Mary had gone back to their home to rest, and John was thankful to be away from her. His thoughts were reeling in his head as he followed a surprisingly silent Sherlock into 221b Baker Street.

They both stopped in the living room to watch each other, still silent, both trying to find what to do or say. The air was charged, tense and awkward after having said good-bye and now being back. His realization didn’t help with the situation, and John’s hands clenched, his body giving away his racing thoughts.

“John?”

He looked up to glance at Sherlock, who seemed incredibly vulnerable right at that moment. John hadn’t shaken off the feeling of wanting to hug Sherlock, but at that moment he decided to take the bull by the horns.

“William.” John whispered in answer, and Sherlock’s eyes widened. John lifted up his sleeve to indicate his wrist, and Sherlock looked away and went to the kitchen, avoiding John.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Sherlock?”

Sherlock didn’t answer, instead pulling two mugs from the cupboard while the kettle was filling up with water in the sink. John leant back on the counter next to him, waiting patiently until the tea was made and poured. Sherlock leant back next to John, clutching his mug with both hands and staring into the brown liquid. Sherlock glanced over at John for a second then back at his mug, avoiding John’s gaze.

“Sherlock…” John said softly, and Sherlock pursed his lips.

“I-“ Sherlock’s breath hitched, and he pulled away from where they were, going to the living room to stand next to the window. “I was… Afraid.”

“Why?”

Sherlock shook his head, then spoke quietly but quickly, barely taking a breath.

“I was afraid, John, afraid, because as I said at your wedding you really are the bravest and kindest and wisest man I have ever known and I really didn’t think you would ever consider me your best friend. I was afraid because in all my life barely anyone came to care for me, let alone as deeply as you apparently do. I was afraid because if you ever realized how much of an arsehole I am, then you’ll leave and never look back. You would leave Mary because you’ll want to stop doing what Mycroft and I suggested you would do. I would be left, all alone, with this name on my wrist that belonged to someone that I used to know. I couldn’t bare that possibility, John.”

At the end, Sherlock seemed to become smaller, hunching his shoulders and bowing his head, not even looking at John anymore. He heard Sherlock’s voice hitch once more on his name, and then all John could think was _Fuck this._

So suddenly John found himself with an armful of Sherlock, squeezing and leaning his cheek on Sherlock’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Sherlock shuddered, and after a few short moments he finally relaxed, leaning into John.

“I would never leave you, Sherlock. Even after everything you’ve put me through. You’re too brilliant of a man to ever push me away completely.”

Sherlock began turning, and John loosened his arms to allow it. They faced each other, their eyes locked, his glasz eyes piercing into John like they always have.

“One day you will.” Sherlock murmured, his eyes filled with a sort of sadness that John didn’t want to ever see again as long as he could help it.

John knew he wouldn’t be able to knock some sense into Sherlock through words, but he had one more card to play, one more feeling that he had buried down and had rediscovered with the realization, one that he was perfectly happy to oblige.

One minute goes by.

Another.

And as Sherlock’s face began to harden against the world, John pushed up onto his tiptoes and smashed his lips against Sherlock’s in an urgency that he had never felt in his life before.

Sherlock stiffened, surprised by the sudden affectionate onslaught. John pulled away, an apology already on the tip of his tongue, but as he opened his mouth to speak Sherlock leant down and pressed his lips against John’s own. They were plump and soft and fit John’s perfectly, igniting sparks all along the sensitive skin and down to his stomach were a pool of warmth was forming. They stayed that way, nipping at each other urgently, until one pulled away for breath. They stayed standing, pressed up completely against each other, their foreheads touching.

“Do you believe me now when I say I’m not leaving?” John whispered, smiling softly up at Sherlock, whose face was lit with a kind of wonderment that made the pool of warmth grow bigger.

Sherlock answered John’s smile with one of his own, a genuine, soft, affectionate smile that John wanted to keep in his memory until the day he died.

“Yes, I believe you. It’ll be difficult, you know.”

“I’ve lived with you for a year, I think I can last a lifetime. I will last a lifetime, Sherlock.”

Sherlock caressed John’s lips softly, raising his hands to cup John’s head to tilt it up. The kiss was less urgent, one of promise. John raised his own hand to hold Sherlock’s wrist, and as they made contact John’s heart tugged and the name on his wrist flared with a slow heat. They both looked at their hands, and John slid up and pressed the name on his wrist against Sherlock’s.

_William._

_John._

It was the beginning of something new, something that John had yearned for and hadn’t even realized it. Here they were, their world turned upside down and yet it felt completely right. Tomorrow would be a new day, and they would meet it together, tied by the unknown force of their hearts, bound by their wrists for the rest of their days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! Thank you for taking the time to read this story, seriously, I really didn't expect this much feedback and here we are 4 or 5 days later. I hope you all had or have a wonderful day!


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